Date: Sat, 10 Jun 2000 22:53:31 +0100 (GMT+01:00)
From: dreamer@beautifulboy.co.uk
Subject: Finding a Belief #1 {} { MM Celebrity Boy-Bands } [1!?]
WARNING: This story contains relationships between adults
of the same sex. There may be sex at some point, too, although
there is none in this chapter. If you are too young (18 or 21
dependent on local area laws) or if this isn't your thing, then go
read some Jane Austen. If that proves too much, then try the
Teletubbies.
DISCLAIMER: This story is FICTION, which means it really isn't
true. It doesn't imply anything about the sexuality of Nick Carter,
or any other Backstreet Boy, nor does it imply that their characters
and/or behaviour are as portrayed.
OTHER DISCLAIMER: (i.e. introduction) Er, what do I say here?
It's another Nick from BSB story (wonder why he's so popular? :-]).
If you're looking for sex, this isn't the place. Not yet anyway. I'd
hesitate to call it romance too, more... confusion.
Also, I can tell I'm gonna get crit for it's not being too upbeat.
Well, it's probably deserved, actually. I've actually got two plots going
round in my head and it's playing havoc with the characters.
Anyway, it's my first story to be posted, so if you've got any
comments, criticisms, or whatever, feel freeee (oops) to mail me at:
dreamer@beautifulboy.co.uk
Anyway...
Finding a Belief-1:
The pale curtains fluttered in the hot breeze of the night air
like ghosts. Outside the open window, a galaxy of lights glittered and
shimmered below, all colours, yellow, red, blue. Smoke -- dhuaa'n they
called it -- from fires that flared far off and far beneath hovered above
them, shimmering the lights. The night thickened all around,
enveloping, asphyxiating heat. The airports, the flights, the hustle and
bustle of the day was over. Mosquitos hizzed past; even up here on the
fiftieth floor there was no escaping them. The air conditioning unit
hummed quietly to him from the corner. He gazed longingly at it,
seeking in vain for a way to turn it to a yet higher setting.
A little tap at the door elbowed into his reverie, and he
frowned, irritated, to his mind by the disruption, but really only because
of the heat. He pulled open the door to reveal the room-service, with
the bottles of water he'd ordered a couple of minutes before. Taking
the water, he smiled emptily, handed the man a note without looking at
its denomination and closed the door. He'd been warned so many times
not to drink the tap water, even in a five-star hotel such as this; and he
knew he'd get an ear-bashing if they found out he had, so for the sake
of peace and quiet, he'd agreed. The urge of bathing again was swiftly
overtaking him. He'd already had one when he first got in, but the thick
heat was making any sort of dryness on his form rapidly untenable, and
he padded softly into the bathroom, his bare feet sinking into the thick
carpet. There, he glanced at himself in the mirror. The sweat had
dampened his hair ever so slightly, and there were the hints of dark
circles beneath his eyes. The lack of sleep would soon get to him, he
knew. Still, his blue eyes glimmered bright, and beneath the light, his
blond hair shone. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, throwing it onto
the floor, then dropped his shorts and boxers together, and stepping
out of them, switched on the shower. The cold water struck him like
the touch of icy steel, and he shivered, awkwardly trying to escape its
path. As it teased away the heat and sweat from his body, he relaxed his
tense shoulders, turned up the hot water just a little, and drifted back
into his thoughts.
He emerged wet and naked from the bathroom some twenty
minutes later, hair throwing rivulets of water down on to his chest. He
knew the intense heat would dry him as well as any towel, so he simply
stood at his window, staring out into the night. Below him, the
rickshaws and carts, old Ambassador cars side by side with bicycles,
guards and the bearers from the hotel. What a mess. The Brits had
really screwed the place over when they'd left. All that was left now was
corruption and kerosene fumes from the rickshaws, millions of them,
teeming like a colony of ants. He shuddered. God, he hated ants. They
had once invaded the kitchen and soon everywhere he looked,
everything he touched had the inescapably busy black creatures
crawling over them. The very thought made him want to take another
shower, but he resisted the temptation. He glanced at his watch. It was
almost midnight. Maybe he should hit the sack, he thought, but he
stayed where he was by the window.
He felt curiously daring, as though standing naked at an open
window on the top floor of the hotel was somehow exhibitionist. But
soon the fumes got to him and he retreated from the window, his eyes
burning a little. He wished that there was something he could do to
clear up this city, to liberate it from its tangle of contradictions and
diligent confusion. He knew in his heart that it was too late, the world
turned too quickly, the patterns of lives had already stagnated. Shaking
himself free of the depressing line of thought, he sighed and withdrew
into the bedroom, collapsing in a haze on to the lovely cool mattress, a
short lived pleasure that ignited beneath his heat. His mind fell into a
reverie about America, beautiful mild America, where the summers
were summers and the winters winters. He thought about the big cities
and the little towns in the country. He thought about the forests and
the mountains. He thought about Jamie.
How he must have looked, an elegantly lithe boy, propped
lazily up on the pillows, gazing into nothing with warm blue eyes.
When they had been back home in Orlando, for a brief respite from the
continual grind of touring and recording, he had met Jamie in a club.
Young, demure, self-effacing, but underneath it all, a wonderful,
sparkling personality bubbled like a mountain stream. He'd taken time
out to get to know Jamie, made it his business to be his friend. And so
they had become exactly that. Friends. *They'd* jokingly referred to
Jamie and him as 'the odd couple,' and on the face of it he could see
what they meant: Jamie was quiet, shy, introverted almost to the point
of self absorption, while he, he was outgoing, loud, always goofing
around. But Jamie had never minded... except. Except that one time...
Jamie had sat on the edge of the court, watching Nick take
hoops patiently, knowing that sooner or later Nick would get tired. He
stared at the blond-haired boy as he lined up for another shot, poised
perfectly on his feet, caught in a moment of pure balance... he missed.
Jamie didn't smile. He rose and approached, standing square in front of
Nick, and looked him in the eye.
"Hey, get out the way, I'm trying to lay up here!"
"You're going to be gone soon..." began Jamie. The hot 5
o'clock sun beat down on them.
"Move, would ya?"
"Nick, would you listen?"
"Yeah in a minute," said Nick absently.
"Nick!" he shouted suddenly, "What the hell's wrong with you?
Don't the past three months mean anything to you, doesn't our
friendship -- fuck it, don't I mean anything to you? Aren't you at least a
little disappointed?" He stormed off. Nick had found him hours later in
the woods, picking absently at twigs and the dispersed grass under a
grand oak tree. They had sorted it out of course, like they'd always
sorted things out, but there was something... just a feeling in his eyes.
And when Nick had left him that day, he'd just sat there till evening
gazing expressionlessly at the way he had gone. Nick had glanced back
once or twice, even doubled back once or twice, gone back after dinner,
but still he'd be there under that tree, solitary, silent, and somehow
forlorn.
There was a tap at the door. The clouds of daydream vanished
and he rose off the bed to open it. Howie was standing there, but when
he saw Nick he smiled, a little crookedly, Nick thought.
"Whoa there, we don't want you catching a chill!" he said,
trying not to laugh.
"Hmm?" said Nick. He looked down and blushed. "Oh, shit.
Just hang for a sec, yeah?" He disappeared into the bedroom and
emerged wearing a pair of shorts and an unbuttoned blue t-shirt.
"Yeah, anyway, Kev sent me. Apparently there was a mix-up
over the visas, and we need to go down to the American Embassy
tomorrow morning, pretty early too. You'd better think about getting
some shut-eye," suggested Howie.
"What, in this heat? You're kidding me," moaned Nick, his
blue eyes pleading. "Can't they do anything about the air-conditioning?"
"Well, for one thing, it's useless having that on, and opening
the window. One or the other, not both, and no, I've already checked.
They said that even if they got new ones they'd still be useless against
the summers here. And that's what we get for not checking good
climatic conditions when we were thinking about coming here to
record. We arrived right in the middle of the summer, the hottest
period, just before the monsoon."
"Jeez, no kidding Howie," said Nick collapsing uselessly on to
the sofa, legs over the armrest. "I don't think I can take this. In fact,
I've not even got any idea how the one billion odd people out there can
take it either -- who'd want to live here?"
"Not me," agreed Howie, looking absently at the prostrate
form on the sofa. He knew Nick was missing Jamie something chronic,
but he just couldn't figure out how to help. He touched Nick's calf
before he turned to the door, saying, "Get some sleep, hm? Early start
tomorrow, before the heat gets right up."
"'kay," murmured Nick, his eyes already closing, despite his
earlier protestations.
He woke ridiculously early, and with the sun just peeping
cautiously over the horizon. He ran a tired hand through his hair; the
other one rubbed life back into his eyes. A sea breeze blew in through
the window, and Nick noticed the heat appeared to have lessened its
intensity. He was grateful beyond words. He stumbled sleepily to the
windows and gazed out on to the city below him. People were already
up, cleaning, washing, the omnipresent rickshaw drivers doing whatever
they did when there weren't enough passengers.
He wanted to go home. He wanted so badly to go to a place
where everything was familiar, where they spoke English, where there
was a family and... he stopped the thought right there. Snatching his
key off the dresser, he headed out of the room to find someone else
who might be awake.
In the corridor, he stood, still in his t-shirt and shorts,
wondering who he could call on. He settled on Howie in the end, who
even though he might not yet be up, wouldn't mind being awoken. He
tapped at the door.
"Come in," came the quiet reply from within; Nick entered to
discover Howie with his back to him standing at the open window. The
breeze rustled the curtains a little. He glanced behind him to see who
his visitor was, then grinned expansively. "Hey, Nick, what's up?" Nick
fiddled absently with the buttons on his shirt before coming to join
Howie at the window. The view was near identical to that from his
own, but he still stared. The sun had risen a little higher, casting
everything in glimmering auburn rays, here and there catching off the
intricate roofs of mosques and temples. Howie noticed Nick hadn't
answered, so he said, "Beautiful, isn't it?" Nick grunted non-
committally, and Howie's brow creased. After they had stood in silence
for a couple of minutes, he said, "Nick, what's going on, hm? You
come in here, and don't say a word -- what?" He was interrupted by the
suddenly sharp look Nick directed at him. It disappeared though,
almost as quickly as it had arisen.
"Just... just a little homesick. That's all. Missing my family, and
America and... and stuff." His reply was softly spoken, and he stared at
the foreign land with something akin to melancholy.
Howie glanced at him and guessed, correctly as it turned out,
the real problem. "It's Jamie, no? You miss him?" Nick opened his
mouth as though to say something, but then appeared to think better of
it, and merely nodded glumly. Howie placed a hand on his friend's
back. "Nick... what we gave up for this life, we gave up knowingly. We
knew that we wouldn't have real time for friendships. It never affected
you before: you jumped at the chance to travel, but now?"
Nick thought about the question. He could say what they'd all
said at some point, and what everyone had expected them to say, that
the novelty had worn off, that all that he wanted was a 'normal' life,
that he'd settle for a wife and two kids and a big dog and house in the
suburbs, but that wouldn't be true. Above all, he liked what was doing.
He threw up his hands in frustration, descending from the window to
collapse on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was a very well made
ceiling -- it even had coving. Nick banished the irrelevant thoughts, and
concentrated on Howie, who was looking down at him, concerned.
Nick made a smile and plastered it on his face, where it didn't fool
Howie in the slightest. "Don't worry," soothed Nick. "I'll be fine.
'S'nothing really." Howie wasn't going to pry.
"Okay. Whatever you say, but you know if you want to talk--"
"-- you know where I am," finished Nick. "Yeah, I know.
Thanks anyways How."
"Anytime, although I'm not exactly sure what I did."
Nick grinned.
"So cuz, you wanna tell us how long we have to spend here?"
asked Brian. The city flashed sunlight around them as they travelled in
the car to the embassy.
"It won't be too long. Just relax, you'll only get too hot again,
and then I'll never hear the end of the complaining," said Kevin. "All
we have to do is fill out a couple of forms, half-an-hour tops, and then
some free time, but I want all of us there at the stadium by half-one, no
later."
"Yes sir!" saluted AJ. Kevin stuck his tongue out a him, and it
was such an un-Kevin thing to do that Brian and Howie cracked up
almost immediately. Nick smiled and returned to staring out the
window.
"Man, these Indian girls are pretty," said Brian.
"Watch it," warned AJ, "you're nearly a married man now!"
"Taking all the fun out of life," groaned Brian.
"I'm sure Leigh-Anne will see it that way, uh-huh," nodded AJ.
"Nick, you're pretty quiet," said Brian, changing the subject.
Nick looked at him, didn't know what to say to that, and turned his
head back to the window again. "Nicky? Is everything okay?"
There was concern in his voice this time, but Howie spoke up.
"He's just a bit tired, he found it hard to sleep last night." Nick gave
him a quick 'thank-you' smile, which Howie returned.
"Didn't we all," moaned AJ. "Kev, next time, book it for
winter, huh?"
"Oh that's right, blame me," said Kevin, but with a smile on
his face. A good-humoured squabble promptly set itself up, but it all
was nothing to Nick. The vehicle stopped, and AJ looked around.
"Okay, out of my way lard-ass," he said to Howie, "I gotta get
myself into some proper air-con."
Howie pouted. "What's wrong with my ass? Wait! D'you think
my ass looks big?" he asked shrilly, flouncing out of the car and
mincing his way to the top of the stairs, where the security guard
looked at him. Brian and AJ collapsed into giggles, while Howie turned
red and disappeared inside the embassy. Nick meandered slowly to the
door, when a voice caught his attention.
"Ai, yaar! Money tho'da give kijiega?" Nick looked down to see
a scrawny child looking up at him with beseeching eyes. He couldn't
have been older than eight or nine, and his dark legs were thin and
undernourished. Nick felt a stab at his heart. He couldn't understand
most of what the child had said, but the intent was clear. Regretfully, he
shook his head.
"I-not-have-money," he said slowly and clearly. "No money.
Sorry."
The boy looked up at him unbelieving. "Money?" he repeated.
Nick was about to call Kevin and see if he had any but was suddenly
joined by the security guard.
"Aré! HaT!" he shouted. The child scampered down the road,
and only now did Nick notice the woman in a tattered orange sari and
dishevelled hair at the security barrier, bearing a baby in the crook of
her elbow. She looked at the child and then straight into his eyes,
before turning her back and setting off down the road with her
children. She didn't look any older than her early twenties.
"I'm sorry, sahaab," said the guard in thickly accented English.
Nick smiled his thanks wanly, before jogging up the stairs and into the
embassy.
Inside, it was cool -- they obviously had proper air-conditioners
-- and Nick felt goose pimples rise on his bare arms. He looked at the
girl at the reception desk, who smiled bashfully at him.
"Can I help you sir?" she asked.
"Hi, I'm Nick Carter, I'm here with the Backstreet Boys?"
"Ji, of course. Please follow me." She rose impressively from
behind her desk, and walked with perfect poise and grace in her sari to
a door marked 'TWO'. She pushed it open, and there were the rest,
filling in forms like there was no tomorrow.
"Hey Kev, what's it mean when it says 'Reason for Entrance?'"
asked AJ frowning at a piece of pastel blue paper.
"'Business,'" said Kevin. He glanced up. "Nick, yours are over
here. You'll need to do the blue one before the pink one, and the yellow
one only if it applies, yeah?"
"Why didn't that Morgan woman do this?" asked AJ, referring
to their tour assistant.
"It's not in 'that Morgan woman's' job description," said Kevin,
surpressing a grin. "There *are* some things we still have to do for
ourselves, you know."
"Gee. It's good to know I have more of this to look forward to
in my life," complained Howie, causing AJ to snicker.
"Yeah yeah yeah, the quicker this is done the sooner we can get
out of here," said Brian. The door opened to admit another, a young
man no more than twenty-five, wearing a messed up suit and short hair,
and a tie that seemed to be coming off of its own accord. The top few
buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a reasonably well-toned
chest. The Boys looked askance.
"Oh, sorry. I'm Daniel Gieve -- call me Dan," he introduced,
running a harassed hand over his crumpled shirt.
Kevin's eyes lit up in recognition. "Hi Dan," he said evenly,
smoothly getting up and extending his hand, which Dan took and
shook with a firm grip. His lack of polish didn't mask the determined
personality behind it.
"I'm here to help you get through all this mess. I'm really very
sorry we lost your papers, I'm sure you've much better stuff to do."
"No, really, we like doing this," said AJ sarcastically. Kevin
frowned at him Dan looked guilt-stricken.
"Ignore him," said Kevin quietly, then added: "He'll probably
need the most help." Dan grinned. Nick's heart stopped. He must have
been staring, for Dan looked at him quizzically, but then a twinkle
appeared in his eye.
"You're Nick, right?" he asked. Nick nodded. "Pleased to meet
you. How's it going over there?" The others returned to the form-
filling, while Dan knelt by Nick's sofa, and glanced at the forms. Nick
looked down at his brown eyes and felt suddenly dizzy. Inexplicably
they reminded him of Jamie, yet not. It was like Jamie grown up, but
more confident, less diffident, more roguish as well as retaining the
boyish charm, older, but still with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Nick
could smell the shampoo on his blond-streaked brown hair and could
feel loneliness descending like night. He rose.
"Is there a restroom somewhere?" he managed to get out.
Dan nodded. "Get Padma at reception to show you."
"It's okay, I'll find it." He left in a rush. Dan stared after him.
He found him sometime later, after succeeding in diverting the
other Boys' attentions to the forms from worry of Nick's absence. Nick
was sitting on a closed seat in a stall, with the door open, staring at his
reflection across the room. Dan looked at him.
"Hey," he said softly.
Nick looked up and smiled a smile that was lacking in
conviction. "Hey," he said back. "Some problem with the forms?"
"Uh... no. I..." Shit, he hadn't thought this out, had he? Oh to
hell with it. "You seemed a little preoccupied earlier; is everything all
right? I mean -- you don't have to tell me if you don't want, seeing as
you don't know me or... whatever," he finished a little lamely. There
was a silence. Nick just stared through him to his now imaginary
reflection.
"Okay... I'll just leave you alone," said Dan, and he turned to
the door. He never made it.
"I... I miss home." Nick murmured. Dan returned to stand
before him. "I miss my family, and the people and my friends and
Jamie..."
"Jamie?" prompted Dan gently. Nick's words were bringing
things to the surface that he thought he'd put down forever.
"My best friend, well, maybe, except for Rok. I'd only known
him for three months or so too. I just want a rest, but I can't have one."
Dan looked at him. "Can't you just say to the Boys that..."
Nick was shaking his head. "No. There's the record company
and the studios, and... you have to book your free time, months in
advance."
"Jeez. I had no idea," said Dan sympathetically.
"Yeah well..." Nick stood up, and Dan looked him in the eyes.
Nick flinched, and lowered his gaze shyly.
"D'you wanna go for an ice or something? There's a café
nearby; you can tell it all to me," said Dan. The green marble around
them echoed mockingly. Nick was feeling so miserable that he really
didn't care what he did anymore, and so he nodded.
---ooo000ooo---
I know it's not very long, but I wanted to get it out. I was initially
aiming for 25-30Kb but it fell kinda short; oh well. I'd just like to point
out too that the plot is still kind of fluid at the mo, so comments and
criticism are very welcome. That address again: dreamer@beautifulboy.co.uk